Friday, May 29, 2009

Well, not really crappy. I am just a disinterested cook. I'm bored with the things we always make. I'd be just as happy to have a bowl of cereal for dinner as anything.

Part of the problem is that I USED to cook for the thundering hordes. A minimum of four kids (and, depending on the marriage and the time frame, as many as six) plus a spouse (or not) meant preparing meals in large quantities.

So when it was just a couple of kids, it seemed like too much trouble to go to. And now that, for the most part, it's only the Roo-girl, Wonderhubby and me every night, I completely lack enthusiasm for the whole ordeal.

But the Roo-girl feels the loss. In a fit of emotional incontinence over a dollars-for-chores argument, she vowed to make dinner three times a week.

The first effort was ... um ... edible. Pasta with red sauce and green beans. All of it served cold. (And have I ever told you how I feel about red sauce?)

But recently, we discovered something in our neighborhood that changes everything.

It's a place where you prep a meal with fresh ingredients, making all the sauces or whatever else. Then you take it home and pop it in the freezer for cooking later.

We turned the experience into a mother-daughter bonding moment as we put together chicken yakitori, mango salmon, chicken with lemon and artichoke sauce and a very interesting lasagna (no red sauce!).

As part of the "experience," the place offers bottles of water or soda to its customers, so, of course, we imbibed. The diet Coke was just what the doctor ordered, while we covered lasagna noodles with a spinach and alfredo concoction.

Until I hit it with my elbow.

And it spilled all over the counter ... and into the shredded cheese.

Roo and I looked at each other in horror, and, while we scrambled to clean up our mess without anyone noticing, she glared at me.

"When you dish out the cheese, you better make sure you take the stuff in the back where you spilled," she hissed.

So we did.

And next week, when we serve up our lasagna, we two will be the only ones who know:

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Yesterday, the California Supreme Court upheld the ban on same-sex marriage that California voters approved last November. At that time -- before the election -- I wrote this for Mid-Century Modern Moms.

It's my personal wish as only one of the many, many families touched by this ruling. Because those of us who ARE affected are not just faceless numbers. We're real people with dreams and hopes.

And so I thought it was appropriate to reprint it here today:

Once upon a time, there was a little boy with a dream.

He dreamed of love. A romantic love, in fact. Of love that transcended the ages.

He knew that his dream was not really all that realistic. It was a dream, after all.

But he continued to hope that one day he would meet the one person in the world who was absolutely perfect for him.

The one person who would understand his dark moments.

The one person who would understand his sense of humor.

The one person who would be the yin to his yang.

The one person who would love him back with the same intensity.

The one person who was meant just for him.

There were many dark years as the little boy grew up. Many years when he thought that one person didn't really exist.

Many false starts. Many times when he thought ... maybe? This time? Is this the one?

And many times when his heart was broken. Not just broken, but smashed to little pieces by a person who turned out to be much less than he thought.

Until now.

The little boy is a week from his 25th birthday. Almost a year ago, that elusive "person" he was seeking appeared.

And he knows love.

Romantic love.

Precious love.

Someone who understands his dark moments.

Someone who understands his sense of humor.

Someone who is the yin to his yang.

Someone who loves him back with the same intensity.

Someone who was meant just for him.

Last May, something happened that would open the way for the little boy and his true love to be able to get married.

And no, he didn't finish his sentence because I had already smacked him on the arm.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Z-man:*belching loud and long* brrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaachhhhhhhhhhh.

Evil Mother: Oh, REALLY. Must you?

Z-man: Well, it's gotta come out, and it's better than coming from the other end. I've been keeping THAT corked up for about an hour.

The Roo-girl: And we all thank you for that.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The light turns yellow and Wonderhubby slams on the brakes, bringing our rental car to a stomach-wrenching stop.

Evil Mother, Z-man and Roo-girl:*in unison* Arrrrghhhhhhhhh ...

Wonderhubby: Well, I didn't want to go through the light. I don't know how strict they are about that here.

*no response from the still-moaning peanut gallery*

Wonderhubby: And see? There's a cop right there?Evil Mother: Where? How did you SEE that?

Wonderhubby: When you drive as much as I do, you develop a nose for that.

Z-man: I smell BACON.

Evil Mother: Bwahahahahhaha.

The Roo-girl: Huh?????

Wonderhubby: Roo-girl, back in the '60s, the hippies called the police "pigs."

The Roo-girl: Really? Why? I still don't get it. What does bacon have to do with it?

Z-man: Oh brother. Cops. Pigs. Bacon.The Roo-girl: Ohhhhhhhhhh. How come I never get this stuff?

Wonderhubby, Evil Mother, Z-man:*in unison* BLOND.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Flight attendant on the way home: Make sure your carryons are safely stowed in the overhead bins or under the seat in front of you. Your lap is NOT considered appropriate storage for your handbag or your manbag.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

We arrived home and parked the car. Z-man pushed his car door open, smacking the vehicle parked next to us, uttering these immortal words:

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Yes, Mother's Day. The day when we honor our mothers and our children honor us.

Sorta kinda.

Mine was not exactly what I wanted it to be, but I'll live. We spent the morning/afternoon at my nutty sister's with her bigoted husband and their divine creation, otherwise known as my 7-year-old niece.

(Hoooooh-wheee! I'm snarky today!)

But the good news was that I was surrounded by my own progeny, and where they go, trouble usually follows.

Things I learned at Mother's Day brunch:

* My brother has no gatekeeper on his language, even with a 7-year-old in the room. It's hilarious to watch everyone repeating the Yiddish words of my childhood: "Der kinder, der kinder! (The children, the children!!)"

* My children recognize bad behavior when they see it -- in other people. Their own? Eh.

* My mother is now wearing a tutu when she pole-dances. (I wish I had a picture of my brother's face when THAT came up.)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Psycho-sister:*holding up a half-full 2-liter bottle* Does anyone drink Diet Coke? Please take this home.

Nasty-mouthed brother: We'll take that off your hands.

Pole-dancing mama: Waaaaait just a second. What are you going to with that bottle?

The Roo-girl:Bwahahahahaha ... Grandma will wrestle you to the ground for the empty bottle. She's saving for an Armani suit.

Sunday, May 10, 2009

First, let's get a little bidness out of the way. Happy Mother's Day to all my motherish friends!!

Additionally, this is a photo that I have had hanging around my Weekly Winners folders for several weeks. It's little piece of loveliness left over from the Seventh First Annual Grilled Cheese Invitational.

So this is something only my ketchupaholic daughter would appreciate. No one else would be caught dead in it.

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I'm a working wife and mom, married 9 years to the Wonderhubby. My five kids (yes five) are 31 (Drummer Man), 28 (Drama King), 22 (Z-man), 22 (J-Bear) and (gulp) 18 (the Roo-girl). What was I thinking? Oh yeah, I was thinking that I love my life, my kids, my world. Right now, I'm dealing with the end of high school and the start of college years (eek!), new drivers, rebellious twentysomethings, my emptying nest (cry) and letting go. Email me at jsongbird4(at)aol.com